


An Unexpected Path

by Mytha



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bears, Beginnings, Character Study, F/M, Fluff, Poetry, Romance, bandits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:42:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22597996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mytha/pseuds/Mytha
Summary: Feelings, realizations and related shenanigans. Flinging flaming bears at the audience.
Relationships: Cassandra Pentaghast/Varric Tethras
Comments: 15
Kudos: 58
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	An Unexpected Path

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amarmeme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amarmeme/gifts).



Poetry, Maker, she had wanted poetry! Surely she had not been serious? 

As he sat on a log near the campfire, struggling to keep watch and write, Varric was not entirely sure how he ended up in his current predicament. 

Sure, it had been only natural for himself and Cassandra to put their past aside eventually. That it should go any further was not something he could have ever anticipated. But then... all these months on the road had forged a trust and respect he hardly would have believed ever could exist between him and the woman who had interrogated him in Kirkwall just over a year ago. 

At first he had enjoyed reminding her of that past, but a few weeks into this – their shared dedication to the Inquisition - the satisfaction he had gleaned from getting under her skin with his barbs had paled next to the discovery that he could make her laugh. She had a sense of humor and it was wonderful.

Add to that the sky flinging flaming demons at you left and right, murderous creatures big and small and the threat of whatever misguided faction currently believed them better dead than alive – and it was rather good to have Cassandra on your side to keep the blasted fuckers from actually killing you. Not that Varric himself was not a great shot and still quite nimble, able to dodge attacks and defend himself – but sometimes you needed a solid bulwark between you and the advancing horde of bears. Whoever knew bears could even come in blasted packs? He thanked the Maker for Cassandra Pentaghast.

Of course, when Hawke showed up at Skyhold, whatever friendly feelings the Seeker had developed for him before had seemed extinguished in an instant. Hurt pride could take you that way. It certainly seemed it could Cassandra, noble ideals and all. 

Nevertheless, she had apologized – he had apologized – they had returned to trading barbs on the road that did not sting as much, and Cassandra's dry humor again often consoled him over the fact that it was the only thing dry for miles around. Maker's ass, he hated living on the road. 

And then – he thought the Inquisitor was pulling his leg asking him to write a follow up to his most disastrous writing venture, the romance serial “Swords and Shields” - Cassandra, it turned out, liked his writing! More than liked it! He did not know if he should laugh at Andraste's twisted sense of humor or take it as vindication of his talent as an author of romances, implausible as that seemed. 

It had been absurdly gratifying to write the second chapter for her. He had even spent sleepless nights getting on with the work and finished it in record time. He was certainly not doing it for his publisher, who was going to wring his neck when he received a copy of this manuscript instead of the next installment of “Hard in Hightown”. It was almost as much fun to write it to spite him as it was to imagine Cassandra's reaction to the trials and tribulations of the Knight-Captain. 

Giving the finished book to her finally had been all he could have hoped for – possibly more. To watch her reading, engrossed in the story, cheeks glowing and eyes brightly intent, was a reward that made him happier than any coin he might make from his stories. In fact it had made him absurdly happy. Happier than he had any right to be. It even made his heart light in ways he had scarcely felt before. 

When the realization of what he was feeling had finally hit him – rightfully brained him soundly for being such a clueless clod – he had had to sit down. Well... shit. 

Which was what finally set the events in motion that currently had him losing sleep over Maker-forsaken poetry. Poetry! Of course there was always the option of seeking out some well-worn copy of tried and true romantic poets, but wasn't he an author himself? Surely he owed it to himself to try and put words to paper when it came to the matter of his own heart. 

Maybe the Maker had taken pity on him, but he finally finished a few verses that seemed passable. At least he would not have to pray for the ground to open up and embrace this wayward child of stone when he presented Cassandra with it. Yes, it would do. 

He should be forgiven that in his relief and distraction he did not hear the bandits approaching their camp behind his back.

The blow to his head made him drop his quill and tumble forward and off the log he had been sitting on. He yelped, startled from the daze the blow had left him with, when a booted foot stepped on his hand. The parchment was ground into the dirt. The Inquisition scout who had kept watch with him drew their sword but was immediately tackled and wrestled to the ground by two bandits. Someone roughly grabbed his arms and began to tie his wrists. When he struggled he felt the bite of a dagger at his heck. How many of them were there?

“Hush,” the bandit whispered, hot breath stinking of hunger. 

Whatever advantage the bandits may have had, overwhelming Varric and the scout almost noiselessly while the others were asleep, was lost as everyone startled at a terrifying roar that rang out across the small clearing. 

“What was that?” The bandit let him go and picked up his crossbow. 

Varric struggled to sit up, but could not quite manage the momentum with no hands to steady himself. He heard the bandits whisper and ready their weapons. Then it was quiet. Everyone strained to listen. 

Varric took advantage of the bandits' distraction. “Help!” he shouted. “Help!”

“Blasted dwarf!” 

A kick connected with his shoulder, missing his head as he protectively curled into himself. There was no follow up as Varric heard Sera swear colorfully within her tent and a light appear where he knew Solas slept. 

He was just preparing himself for another kick or worse when what looked like avalanche of fur and nails careered into the camp and through the dying campfire, sending bandits flying like bowling pins among glowing embers. The bear's roar was deafening. 

There was commotion all around Varric as his companions joined the fray and charged at the bear and the bandits by the low light of the trampled fire. The overpowering scent of singed hair made him cough. Was the bear on fire? Arrows whizzed past and his ears, lighting arched and jumped from hooded bandit to bandit – then he heard the all too welcome sound of Cassandra's bellowed battle cry. 

These bandits were out of luck. 

“Varric! Are you alright?” Cassandra suddenly was at his side, lifting him up to sit as he groaned at the pain in his head. She wore her leathers and breastplate – Maker, did she really sleep in that thing?

“I'll be fine. Are they gone?”

“They've retreated into the shelter of the trees. Watch out for arrows.”

“I'd like to repay them in kind. Get me untied?”

“Oh.” Cassandra reached around him to undo the ropes around his hands. She struggled with the knot and finally grabbed the knife from her belt to cut the rope. This close her cheek briefly brushed his as they moved at the same time. 

Maker, the poem! He frantically looked around himself, squinting in the low light. It was nowhere to be seen. Nothing for it now – he'd have to worry about that later. 

Cassandra slapped his shoulder, which made him flinch, and then returned to the fray as screaming bandits ran from the trees pursued by the bear. 

Bianca was next to him, but as he picked her up he knew he'd soon be out of arrows – he could not have planned for this ambush, or for it to involve a company of bandits as well as a maddened beast charging between them and their attackers. He should have known better than to hope for a quiet night.

“Brought your tack, Varric!” Sera shouted as she dropped a bag next to him. “Arrows, yeah?”

It would be, Varric thought, if not for the fact that he had bought up all the blasted candles that merchant in Redcliffe had had. “Thanks, Buttercup.” He scoffed. If worse came to worse he could always hurl them at their attackers – they were surprisingly hefty. 

Somewhere on the clearing sounds of blades hitting blades died down and the bear's roar dwindled to a wheeze. The small battle was over. 

Solemnly Solas lit another fire as everyone cleared debris from their campsite and righted the tents that had been trampled or torn in the confusion. 

“Right then,” Sera yawned, “I'm going back to bed.” 

“I'll finish my watch.” Varric offered, feeling guilty. 

“You are in no shape to do so! I'll take watch.” Cassandra's brow was furrowed, but he'd put that expression on the side of concern rather than anger. 

“Fine,” he conceded. “I'm in no shape to fight you on this, Seeker, but you should know that this thick head doesn't break that easily.”

Cassandra's small grunt of disgust made him chuckle, which in turn made him wince. 

“Wait,” she said, “let me have a look at that.” 

“If I do you'll have to let me stay here,” he reminded her. 

Her glare made his heart sing. 

In fact, it continued singing while she carefully dabbed a cooling poultice on the rising bump on the back of his head. He bit back a comment about her tender ministrations and decided to not test his luck any more that night. 

“You are right,” Cassandra suddenly said. 

“Hm?” He was not sure he had heart her right.

“You should not sleep yet. Injuries to the head can be... deceptive.” 

She was right, of course. He had not thought of that. “Thank you,” he replied – meaning to thank her as much for her care and concern as for coming to his rescue. 

It was pleasant sitting with her – even in silence. 

“Varric,” she suddenly said, “what is this?”

He recognized the parchment with immediate clarity. He gaped, helpless. 

She scanned the lines her eyes widening. 

“Cassandra, please, I can explain.” 

She gasped. “This is about me!”

“It is.” It was too late. He might as well admit it. His voice was suddenly hoarse. “I... wanted to court you.” 

He was not prepared for her reaction. As swiftly as she turned on any foe she straddled him and took his face in her hands, leaning forward to kiss him.

Maybe he was a worthy poet after all.

**Author's Note:**

> This ended up a prelude of sorts - Varric just simply would not stop thinking.


End file.
